


life's too short to even care at all

by Lunarwolfik



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarwolfik/pseuds/Lunarwolfik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Monday they get word about another rogue pack making trouble in Wichita.  Allison throws her bow in the backseat, Lydia tosses their suitcases in the trunk, and they’re on the road before the sun starts peaking above the skyline.  Nothing but red streaks and cool brisk morning air greets them along the highway.  Allison drums her fingers along the steering wheel, keeping time with the soft beat of the music.  Lydia paints her lips in bright red.</p>
<p>It’s just another Monday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	life's too short to even care at all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [homoeroticismforthewin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoeroticismforthewin/gifts).



> Written for [Homoeroticismforthewin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/homoeroticismforthewin) for the Sterek Campaign Teen Wolf Charity Auction. The prompt was Allydia Superwolf with bamf!magical Lydia. I hope this does the prompt justice, the idea ran away from me a little (and it was about 500 times darker than I planned).

On Monday they get word about another rogue pack making trouble in Wichita. Allison throws her bow in the backseat, Lydia tosses their suitcases in the trunk, and they’re on the road before the sun starts peaking above the skyline. Nothing but red streaks and cool brisk morning air greets them along the highway. Allison drums her fingers along the steering wheel, keeping time with the soft beat of the music. Lydia paints her lips in bright red.

It’s just another Monday.

***

The sun makes tracks across the sky, marking their drive in inches and hours.

They get food from a mom and pop diner at noon. It tastes like grease and chalk. Lydia pushes most of it around her plate rather than eat it. Allison kicks her shin and scowls. 

Lydia takes a few more bites with a glare.

The waitress doesn’t give them a second glace.

Allison forgets the color of the placemats within the hour.

***

At three o’clock, they stop for gas, the asphalt smoking in the summer heat. Allison ties her hair back in a messy bun, leaning against the hood of the car, the click and whir of the pump a familiar sound. Lydia checks her phone in the passenger seat, scrolls through messages and writes down notes about silver alloys.

When Allison gets into the car, tossing a bag of chips onto her lap, Lydia rolls her eyes. It’s the predictable game they play. 

Lydia scoffs.

Allison ignores her.

Lydia eats out of spite, but her smile tells another story.

***

By the time they reach Wichita, it’s night, the sky littered with stars. Lydia could name each constellation, could pick out the threads of history and heartbreak etched into the heavens. Allison only needed one to guide her.

The campsite where the pack had been spotted is tucked away, nestled amongst kegging-copses and fishing alcoves. The trees are dark, whatever campers left having fled after the reports hit the airwaves.

They park the car a mile into the campground, and unload their gear with quick efficiency. There are tracks edged along the dirt road, deep footprints that would have been missed by anyone not looking for them. They’re faint in the moonlight, grass half-squashed, stilted and broken. The paw prints are bigger than any normal-sized wolf could make, and they both know the markings well by now.

They follow the trail, night owls and chickadees the only things noticing their passage. The woods are awash in gentle noises carried on even gentler breezes. It’s almost a comfort, if Allison didn’t know what lurked in night.

Allison grips her bow in steady hands, ignores the cold puffs of air each time she breathes, ignores the tension in her shoulders, and how numb her fingers are. Lydia tugs on the edges of her wool cap.

They don’t talk, knowing all too well the power of wolfy super-hearing. Allison counts their paces in her head, and Lydia leaves a couple magic tripwires every few yards to watch their backs. It’s their system. It’s what they do.

When Lydia’s nose crinkles after the three-hundredth and forty-second pace, Allison’s hands are already reaching for an arrow before Lydia can even whisper the word _blood_.

When a snarl follows Lydia’s next breath, Allison is at the ready, arrow nocked in clean precise movements. As she steadies each inhale, Lydia begins chanting.

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with, witch,” a voice growls from the trees to their right. Allison resists the urge to laugh.

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing,” Lydia snarks, her hands glowing golden, the magic patterned on her skin starting to snake up her arms, dancing with her smirk. Her eyes are bright, just like every other time.

Allison suppresses a shudder, feeling awe and dread curling in her chest, just like every other time. She knows they’re not wolf eyes, that Lydia isn’t a wolf, never was and never could be, but with the magic snaking in her veins, the glow is damn close. Always too close. 

The warm glow spills over, touches Allison’s fingers and cheek like a kiss, and that’s when Allison can actually _see_. The world gets flipped, the dance of moonlight and darkness being put on shuffle. The leaves of each tree look like they’ve been dipped in honey-spun gold, the bark alive with trickling trails of fire-white.

Allison loves the feeling and hates it all at once.

And yet, the wolf is still out of focus, just at the edges of what power the sight gives her. It sets her teeth on edge.

“C’mon wolf, you gonna tuck your tail between your legs and run?” She calls out into the night.

“He’s not that smart,” Lydia scoffs and that does it, the wolf snarls again and crouches, getting ready for the kill. It’s more than enough, the movement ripples through the lines of magic Lydia wove and Allison can finally spot him.

“You know you’re going to lose,” she says, calm overcoming her. The arrow is aimed for his heart the second he steps from around the trees.

“That’s what you think,” another wolf says, the words menacing from behind, and that’s when all hell breaks loose.

Two wolves strike out from in front, Allison lets loose and takes the talker down before he can take another step. The other wolf dodges, ducking swiftly behind a tree, while the magic that had been thrumming under Lydia’s skin crackles the air in sinister waves around them. 

Allison’s hair stands on end and she whirls around to see two wolves with claws outstretched, frozen in place a foot from Lydia face. Lydia is staring them down with cool contemplation.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she tutts at the two, all big eyes and malice. 

“Lydia no-“ Allison tries but it’s too late. She snaps her fingers and before Allison can cover her face, they’re torn apart from the inside out, magic ripping them to pieces right down to the molecules. 

Light and blood explode from the broken creatures, rippling out in concentric circles, rattling her joints and stealing her breath away. 

It wasn’t the first time, not by a long shot, but the power still knocks the breath out of her.

The last wolf lets out a yelp of pain and Allison turns, lighting quick, to see the creature impaled against a tree, shoulder dripping black-red blood, it’s snapping teeth and claws vanished. 

Allison walks to the wolf, each step echoing oddly in her head. By the time she’s within a few feet, the woods had shifted back into muted hues and pale moonlight. She stares at the wolf, it looked almost human, except for the eyes. Allison could always see it when someone had a wolf lurking behind their eyes. 

The wolf starts to plead but Allison doesn’t hear a word. She can’t let herself.

She puts it out of its misery before it can start whimpering.

When she gets back to Lydia’s side, Lydia’s smile is devilish.

“Gotta love magic traps,” Lydia says, dirt and blood smudged across her face like a badge of honor. Allison returns an uneasy smile of her own and tries to ignore how feverish Lydia looks.

“This is too bloody, Lydia,” she says, even though her hands are stained in it.

Lydia shrugs and her smile is etched with too much power. It makes Allison’s skin crawl.

Hunting was nasty business.

Living was worse.

***

It was war, plain and simple, fought in the dark corners of the world with no one the wiser. Death’s pale horse had taken thousands of innocent humans within a year and no one but the hunters knew why.

Hunter or hunted. Human or wolf.

Allison and Lydia had chosen the hunters.

Scott and Stiles, well, they didn’t talk about Scott and Stiles.

***

They rinse off and change before getting back in the car. The water is ice cold.

Lydia’s sullen during the drive, quiet. Allison reaches out and circles her wrist, a gentle touch. Lydia relaxes a fraction.

“Don’t let me do that next time,” she mutters after a half hour. Allison glances over, sees the tearstains along her cheeks and nods her response.

This wasn’t the first time she’d asked. 

Allison knew it wouldn’t be the last.

They both knew it was also the only way.

Two hour later, Allison takes the exit for a Motel 6 before she falls asleep at the wheel and sends them headlong into a guardrail.

The clerk is attentive and surprisingly chipper for three in the morning. Either he was always that happy or he noticed the blood under her fingernails when she signed the receipt and wanted to shoo-along the potential murderers as quickly as possible. Lydia’s murderous look when he’d said they didn’t have any non-smoking rooms left probably didn’t help any either.

They end up with a corner room on the first floor. The place is clean, if not overly decorative. Honestly, it’s a bed and that’s all that matters to her. She chucks off her soiled clothes in record time after opening the door, not even giving a damn about brushing her teeth. Apocalypses had a way of pushing personal hygiene to the back burner.

After pulling on a sleeping shirt, she eyes the bed, seriously debating the merits of getting under the covers.

“You know you’ll freeze if you don’t,” Lydia chides from the bathroom before splashing her face with water.

“You know I hate it when you read my mind,” Allison says back. She starts pulling down the covers anyway.

The bed is a comfort and Allison hums in contentment, stretching out under the cool covers and relishing in the feel of clean sheets against her skin.

“Scoot your ass over,” Lydia grumbles, making shoo-ing motions at Allison, who had totally not claimed the entire bed as her own. 

Allison sighs but scoots over, taking most of the blanket with her.

Hitting the light, Lydia slips into the bed beside her, throwing on arm across her chest and hooking an ankle too. Lydia’s warm against her side, soft and comforting. She breathes a contended sigh.

“One of these days I’m gonna have to kick you out of the bed for hogging all the blankets,” Lydia murmurs against Allison’s shoulder.

“Mmmm…that’s what you always say.”

The argument is familiar, safe. It keeps them grounded and Lydia only trembles for a few minutes before dropping off into slumber, the aftershocks of power and magic finally starting to take its toll.

***

Allison wakes up a few hours later to the taste of bile at the back of her tongue, the sound of whimpers lingering in her ears and the wolf’s frozen-face dancing behind her eyelids. The room swims in monochrome for one hazy moment before she finally catches her breath, the sweat beaded on her brow making her shiver.

She swipes a hand across her face, steadies her jumpy heart.

She thought it’d get easier over time, she thought she’d be over it by now.

Lydia is curled away from her, trembling.

Silvery lines of power ghost along Lydia’s frame, glowing faintly beneath the blanket and tracing along the curve of her spine. 

That’s when the screams start, that’s when they always start.

Allison gets up before the first aftershock hits, knowing if she doesn’t move now she’ll get caught in some serious shit. Lydia had been wrong about the timing of the price. Again.

Lydia twists and turns, throws off the blanket as wounds begin ripping across her arms and legs. Ribboning her flesh like wolf-claws, each cut healing itself mere seconds after it appeared, over and over again until Allison can’t bear to watch anymore.

It goes on like that for what feels like hours.

Finally, thankfully, Lydia’s flesh stops tearing itself apart. Her cries turn to whimpered pants and she’s okay again. The silvery glow fades away and she just looks like Lydia, hair tousled and covered in sweat, but still her Lydia.

It means the debt is paid.

***

At breakfast, Lydia’s hands shake and her voice is rough, raw from the screams Allison hopes she doesn’t remember.

“You can’t keep this up,” Allison says, eyes hard.

“I know.”

“It’s gonna kill you,” Allison presses, pulse jumping unsteadily.

Lydia cuts her eyes, hesitant.

“Allison-“

“We made a deal Lydia. You’d get your mojo on or whatever, but not to kill. It takes too much.”

“It’s not that easy, you think I want their blood on me? You think I like it?”

Allison wants to say no. Allison wants to say a hundred thousand things, most of which involve them getting out while they still can.

But she can’t, the words catch in her throat. Lydia’s eyes harden, her lips curling into an ugly sneer.

“C’mon Allison, say it, you think I’m a fucking psychopath now, that I’m worse than a wolf. C’mon, _say it_.”

“Lydia, I don’t. It’s not-“ she sighs, the conversation spinning drastically out of control. She reaches out and takes Lydia’s hand in hers.

That’s all it takes, Lydia’s face falls and for a moment, Allison can see the girl she used to be, all those years ago.

“I’m scared.”

“I know. We’ll figure something out. We can talk to Morrell or Deaton, they’ll know what to do.”

Lydia nods, a weak glimmer of hope showing on her face. 

Allison nods back, hoping she’s reassuring. 

She tries very hard not to think about the last words Deaton had told her, that once the magic tasted blood there was no quenching it, no matter what.

***

They get a call about the Hale pack on Wednesday.

Allison’s grip on the wheel tightens.

Lydia doesn’t say a word, she just turns up the music with a flick of the wrist.

Allison has never been more grateful.


End file.
